Numbers
by DarkwingDuckie
Summary: Oneshot. Tosh imprisoned in a UNIT cell… character exploration.


Title: Numbers

Summary: Oneshot. Tosh imprisioned in a UNIT cell… character exploration.

Character: Tosh

Word Count: 765

Rating: T

Warnings: Vague references to past violence and rape.

Disclaimer: I don't own TW or Tosh

A/N: First fic exploring Tosh's character. I tried to imagine what would go through her head when stuck n a UNIT cell. Spoilers for Fragments episode of TW. It is written in first person and it is the first time I tried this style of writing so please review and let me know if it works or not.

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><p>One , two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three…<p>

So cold, always so cold.

One , two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three…

You could at least give me a fucking blanket!

Of course I don't actually yell it out loud. I did when they first stuffed me into this hole, two steps by three steps, my kingdom, my domain.

I was ignored, mostly.

I guess it started to annoy them so they smacked me around to shut me up. It worked.

One , two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three…

So I pace, it creates heat, alleviates boredom.

God, what I wouldn't do for a Sudoku puzzle. Or a pen and paper. Hell, just one piece of paper would be heaven.

All I have is the red jumper, not even underwear. An un-person doesn't deserve underwear.

One , two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three…

Treason they called it.

Too much time to think, too much time to wonder.

Is my mom dead or alive?

Did I save her?

Was it worth it?

No one will tell me while I silently scream with questions.

Gotta pace. Keep counting steps. All I think then is numbers. Numbers I can deal with, numbers are my friend.

A trance.

One , two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three…

Food twice a day (I think, I have no window, no clock), a break in counting. If it can be called food; a tasteless glob in a bowl (no utensils) containing all the nutrients I need to suffer a long life in this hell hole.

A distraction, a change of pace none the less.

As far as distractions come in this place, it's a welcome one.

One , two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three…

The unwelcome distractions are worse…

Usually they don't care, they ignore.

But some, some of the guards are sadistic. They like power, control.

Those that hear my screams don't care. Those that care never have a chance to hear. I don't exist.

I don't scream anymore.

One , two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three…

I sleep curled up on the ground, my arms protecting my head. Just in case…

In case they come at night (possibly night; when I am tired enough to sleep and yet not awakened by the next nightmare)… not that I would defend myself anyway but I prefer not to wake up with a blow to my head.

That's not the worst, can't think about that, won't think about that…

One , two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three…

Keep myself distracted, keep myself sane.

Stop! Don't think… count… one, two, three, one two… yes count; lose yourself in numbers.

Don't think about their hands… the bruises on my hips. One, two, three, one, two, one…

Numbers don't hurt.

Don't think about the cold, hard concrete; body sliding with each thrust. One, two, three, one, two, one…

Numbers don't harm.

Don't think about their words of hate. When they call out slut, who… One, two, three, one, two, one…

Numbers don't offend.

Wonderful numbers, so clear, so orderly… the only thing I have left of myself.

At least the only thing that's left, that's sane.

One , two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three, one, two, one, two, three…


End file.
